


Cookies

by FoxyEgg



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Im making it a wilson/maxwell because fuck you, Insanity, Isolation, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Minor Injuries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Self-Indulgent, Serious Injuries, Survival, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-07
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:21:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 13,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23047693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyEgg/pseuds/FoxyEgg
Summary: Wilson contemplates his life as he struggles with his sanity.
Relationships: Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 110





	1. Shaving

Wilson's beard was getting pretty long. 

His razor was sitting in his tent, on top of a stump that doubled as a night stand. He picked at his beard, running a hand though it to get all of the knots out as he walked to it. Grabbing the razor, he went to a nearby pond, looking at his wavering reflection.

'Have I always been this ugly?", he thought to himself.

How long had it been? A year? Time didn't seem to work here that well. (The father clock chimes were helpful) He knew how isolated he was before, since he didn't care much for social interaction, but now he's dying to see another human again and just hold them.

He drifted into thought as he shaved, forgetting about a bug bite and cutting it clean off. He snapped up and hissed in pain, shoving his hand onto his chin. The sweat on his hands made him reef his hand back, gritting his teeth. He watched as the blood dripped onto his fingers, coating them in scarlet red.

He scolded himself. He promised he wouldn't ever do that again.

'Maybe one would be alright…' 

Wilson gripped the razor, bringing it to his bare forearm. He pressed as hard as he could, though since he didn't do it for a while, his grip lessened in fear. Wilson growled, looking at the puffy red slice left. He furrowed his brows, holding his breath as he slowly dragged the razor across his arm, watching as the blood seeped out from under the razor. He felt calm, knowing he had some semblance of control.

Once his arm was filled with bleeding cuts, he cleaned off the razor in the pond, returning to shaving his beard.

Wilson knew he didn't have control, hounds could attack at any moment. He felt good thinking that one thing he did have control over was how and when he would off himself, though he knew that he didn't even have total control over that.

In the end of the day, he never had control, and he never will. It's an odd concept, being aware that you are at the bottom of the food chain. Humans are usually at the top, but now he was being hunted. This world was very primitive, but it also has lots of amazing features just waiting to be uncovered. Like, how can there be pigs that walk and act like humans? How can there be tentacles with teeth coming out of the ground? How can there be fish that literally make popcorn? The sinkholes with stairs? What about the huge spiders? It was all too hard to understand.

Wilson walked back to his tent, putting the razor back in its original place. He also put the beard hair on the stump as well. It was dusk, might as well get logs to put into the fire.

It smelled like rain. You know that thick kind of weighty air? That's what it was like. Wilson grumbled as he began to whack a tree, using his arms to swing the flint axe. 

He had frog legs, could eat those or some cooked juicy berries. Or some morsel. He needed to get some more beefalo fur as well. 

One he completed his gathering, he made his way back to his camp. He could get the beefalo fur tonight, once the herd was sleeping. His shaving abilities on animals was… Less than stellar, but I did indeed get the job done. With winter approaching, he needed to stockpile his warm gear.

He better get some rain gear as well, since he could smell the rain better than before. Trading with the pigs shall suffice to get their skins from their dead brothern. They know how to get Wilson to pay, finding food and cutting trees is something they do now.

Walking over to his fire, Wilson threw a chunk of wood inside of the pit. He sat on the ground, lazily poking the fire with a stick.


	2. Auntie/ Pig Village Fun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson reminisces on his family and also takes a trip to the resident pigs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm surprised I was able to write something this soon.

Wilson dug with his hands in his garden, no point in wasting durability on his shovel when he could just as easily use his hands.

The air was extremely thick. 'The rain is nearly here,' he thought.

Walking to the pig village was simple. Maybe they'll have other useful things other than pig skin? He brought his monster meat along, since he couldn't eat the monster meat, he saves it for trading.

Trading was simple, tell the pig what you want and they would find someone who has that. Wilson had good luck, the first one he walked up to had pig skin. He gave the pig the monster meat as they squealed and ran away, showing the others what they retrieved. Another walked up to him.

"Do want egg?", they asked.

Wilson cocked his head. "Egg?"

"Yes, egg. From bird nest in stone land," they answered, holding up a tall bird egg.

"What do I have to pay?"

"No, thank for help. Merm." They held up the egg dropping it as Wilson just barely caught it, his heart in his throat.

"It's no issue. You help me, I help you," Wilson nodded, pulling the egg to his chest.

"Yes." They then turned around, asking, "where did sun go?"

Wilson shrugged, putting his pig skins into his backpack. Should he make a piggyback? He looked down at the blue egg.

"I'll eat this," Wilson said to himself.

He spotted the rocks of his fireplace and the top of his tent. Once he reached his camp and put all of his things down, he started up a fire. Putting off his black arm warmers, he took off his self-made bandages, wrapping his cuts with more, swallowing thickly as he saw the dried blood.

He organized his things, taking out his pig skin, sticks, and silk. Oh is he so glad he knows how to sew.

"Thank you auntie," Wilson mumbled to himself as he got to work.

His aunt was the only person who was honestly alright with him pursuing science and not something more "manly" like his brother.

Wilson wonders if he's manly now. Surviving and doing manual labor is mainly, right? Surprisingly, Wilson knew how to cook. Not like anything extravagant, but something that passes for food. Meet balls, bread, eggs, things like that. Again, his auntie taught him that too, along with his grandmother. His father was going off on him while he was humming and chomping down the bread Wilson made, saying that, "it's a woman who should cook! Not a man!", before he slapped Wilson and threw a chair at him. He ate the rest of the damn bread.

His mother wasn't unsupportive, she was just quiet. She didn't talk. She didn't actually do much. Wilson doesn't remember what she sounded like, only her whimpers and garbled pleas. He didn't know if she actually  _ knew  _ how to speak or if she was trained not to.

Wilson glanced at the blue egg with white dots.

"I wonder if it'll hatch…"

Wilson picked up the egg, putting it between his propped up legs. His face felt warm, but the egg felt cold. He continued sewing his umbrella, feeling it once it was finished. Nice and tight with a bit of slack to support the rain. It wasn't as nice as the ones back home, but pretty darn close. 

He set that down next to him as he went to his tent, curling up on the mat.


	3. Fucking DOGS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Those fucking dogs are accually hellhounds.

Wilson poked the egg yoke. He sighed, propping his head onto his fist. He closed his eyes, slowly slipping off of his hand. He jolted awake at the sound of growling. Immediately, Wilson got up, grabbing his spear on instinct. 

Three hounds jumped out of the bushes, running out towards Wilson before he could even think, "oh shit."

Wilson swung the sharp stick at the hounds, but they dodged, growling and biting with spit filled mouths. They're starving. Wilson turned around, quickly sprinting into the thick lumpy evergreens. The hounds barked after him, swiftly jumping over each tree stump.

He pushed past some berry bushes and was thrown to the ground, another hound on his back with two more in front of him. The three chasing him came through the bushes, growling. They lead him to a trap. Wilson pointed the spear at them, stabbing at them before he attempted to get up. A hound jumped onto his back, latching it's claws into his back and slinking it's teeth into his shoulder while another one bit his arm.

Wilson screamed, ramming his back into a tree and thrusting the spear into the hound latched onto his arm. The hound on his back whimpered, letting go and dropping to the ground, unconscious. The other hound on his arm growled, shaking his arm and clamping harder.

Wilson yelped, taking out his tentical spikes, whacking it into the side of the hound's face. It lodged into the hound's eye, making it let go in favor of reeling back in pain. 

Wilson ran in the moment of distraction, hearing the hounds bark but not follow. Wilson never liked hound attacks. He looked at his arm, the blood glistening in the morning light. The blood on his shoulder was leaking down his front and back, making his clothes stick to his skin. He swears he could see the muscle on his arm twitch when he moved it. He needed help if he were to ever clean the shoulder and back punctures. Problem is that no one else is in this god forsaken place. 

Wilson grumbled, "I can never catch a break."

He rubbed his eye tiredly. He should go back to camp. He turned around, deciding to go a little right to find a trail or a break in the woods. He ended up finding a matted down trail. 

The trip back wasn't too long, but the adrenaline wore off, so his wounds were screaming. Wilson swallowed thickly just as the rain started coming down. He sighed, even though the rain was washing the blood away, the hard drops were painful on his wounds.

He saw his camp in the distance, all torn up and ruined. He felt like he was going to cry in frustration and sadness. All of his things, all of that _work_ _is gone_. 

He took a breath, pulling at his hair and whispering, "it's gone... Fuck it's all gone."

He sucked in his bottom lips, beginning to make his way to the nearby pigs. The rain was cold as he shivered and crossed his arms, his hair slightly matting down on his head. Good thing is that his tears were mixing with the rain, making it close to impossible to see that he was crying. 

Knocking in a door, it opened, greeting him to a pig who looked at him up and down.

"Friend wet?", they asked.

"Yes, hounds. My camp is destroyed," he answered.

"Sleep here?"

"I was hoping you would allow me, just for tonight. Then I'll move to a safer place." Wilson nodded.

The pig opened the door more, letting Wilson into the warm home. It was small, only set for one resident. The pig opened a cupboard, giving Wilson the sleeping bags that he made for the village. They had helped him fend off swarms of bees before he had a beekeeper suit. Pulling out all of the stingers was not fun, but he was able to form an alliance after that.

He smiled, "thank you for the hospitality."

The pig nodded and Wilson was slightly impressed on their english abilities.

"Food outside, can make when sun half up for friend."

"Thank you for helping me," Wilson laid out the sleeping mat next to the fire. Again, the pig nodded.

"Friend is important. Friend is family," they said, patting their heart.

Wilson smiled again, watching as they walked upstairs to where he supposed their room was. His smile fell as he looked at his arm. The gauze from his cuts was ripped, falling off of his forearm. He slipped it off, gazing at the self inflicted cuts. He sighed, laying on his stomach to avoid his back punctures.

Wilson want's a fucking break.


	4. Holy Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This bitch fucked up-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Wowie I don't know how I'm keeping up this daily updating but I am for now.
> 
> Enjoy it while it lasts.

Wilson had said goodbye to the pigs and thanked them for their friendship, he said he would visit whenever possible. They all nodded, saying their respective goodbyes.

Wilson walked down the path, fiddling with the flower headband the child pigs made for him. Yes, there are children, scared him when he first saw them. It was a little messy, not as precise as his ones, but it was precious.

He let his hand fall to his legs, swinging them out in front of him. He puffed out his cheeks, slowly tapping his food to a random beat. He grinned, liking the little break that he wished for the night before. Wilson was actually pretty bad at dancing. He was a gentleman, but he wasn't a damn ballerina. He knew how to pig dance, they did many ceremonies for the king like dancing around him and presenting him with food. The king liked Wilson, usually patting his head and giving a squeal of approval when Wilson danced correctly. It was so innocent and fun, no murder included, just dancing and singing.

Wilson twirled, snapping his fingers as he swayed his hips. It was unneeded and childish, but it made him feel human. He chuckled at he stepped on his own foot, nearly tripping as he continued his dancing.

It was probably a sight. A man, bloodied with a messy flower crown and a self-made bag wrapped onto his back failing at dancing. It didn't really matter, it made him happy.

He laughed to himself, continuing to slightly dance to this made up tune. Wilson picked a carrot out of the ground, whipping the dirt off a bit before biting in. He was still slightly shimmy-dancing while making obnoxious crunching sounds with the carrot. No one was here to see him being immature after all. Maybe Maxwell but what was he going to do? Tell him to stop?

He hadn't actually heard Maxwell's condescending voice in a while. Part of him wants Maxwell to be okay, but the other part wants him to fall into the deepest pit and just starve. 

Wilson rubbed his eyes, still holding the carrot in his hand as he did so. He couldn't stop walking, he has to find a new place to camp. Maybe it would be okay if he just took a little rest.

Wilson sat down, bringing his legs up to his chest and curled his arms around them. His hissed, his wounds aching in sharp pain. He would clean his back by dipping it in a pond, but he couldn't see the bottom of those, he doesn't even know if they do have a bottom.

Wislon got back up, using a tree to assist him. He grumbled, wanting to rub his shoulder. Laughing was something strange, but it began to bubble up and he just couldn't help it.

He was still laughing by the time he went to sleep.

  
  
  


In the morning his feet were still aching. Wilson felt like sobbing. He took off his shoes, they weren't doing anything helpful, just making it harder to walk. He looked at his red feet, rubbing his eyes for the umpteenth time. A bird landed on the ground, pecking at seeds. He shooed it away, picking up the seeds and popping them into his mouth.

That was his breakfast, five seeds. Wilson continued his journey, walking across the matted down grass with his bare feet. He only stopped for the occasional berries or seeds, either eating them or storing them in his shirt that he made into a bag. His pale skin was beginning to burn, making it hard to move his shoulders without feeling like a creaky door. 

Wilson's head spun, making him fall to the ground, attempting to save himself by putting his hands out, but they just crumpled when he landed on them. He lost so much blood. Looking at the trail behind him, he laid himself down.

He took in a shaky breath. 

"This is how I die," he said. "Bleeding out. I never had control." 

Wilson rolled onto his side, putting his make-shift bag next to him, the berries and spider glands spilling out.

He could use the glands, he  _ should  _ use the glands but he doesn't want to and he won't. His thoughts were beginning to swim, making it impossible to comprehend anything.

Wilson blinked slowly, trying to calm his racing heart. He curled up, even if his wounds didn't agree, and swallowed thickly.

Was that rain? Something wet was on his cheek. Reaching up to his face, he swiped the liquid up, tasting it. Tears. He didn't even notice he was crying.

Wilson held his breath, all of his muscles relaxing as his mind went blank. He closed his eyes, thinking of freedom.


	5. Skitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Webber and Maxwell being besties becuase Webber can befriend anyone (besides for pigs).

Maxwell was out with Willow and Chester to get more charcoal. Willow was of course burning the trees as Maxwell make sure she didn't go crazy and burn down the whole forest.

Willow grinned, snapping her lighter on as the fire danced. Maxwell rolled his eyes, looking down at Chester to make sure he wasn't going to get burned. Chester was sitting there, just looking at the fire.

"Don't burn everything and make sure Chester stays away," Maxwell said, sticking the eye bone into the ground.

Willow turned around as fast as Maxwell finished saying that. "Why are you leaving? You aren't supposed to, Maxwell. Just because you used to be the king doesn't mean you still make the rules."

"I don't want to watch," Maxwell began to walk away. "Enjoy you're time."

"Fuckin' bastard…", Willow mumbled, taking one look at Chester before turning back to the burning trees.

Maxwell rolled his eyes again, making a mouth with his hand, closing it and opening it.

Walking was something he didn't love, but was alright with. Anything to escape those people is something he can bear really.

He walked for maybe ten minutes before he spotted blood. Tilting his head, he went down the opposite trail, following the bright red blood.

It was new, still glistening on the grass. He cut through the thin layer of trees, finding a little area, perfect for reading. Taking out his book, he continued wandering into the area, still looking at the strange addition of blood.

He paused, taking another look at what he saw. Black puffs of hair and a pale, bloody back. 

"Higgsbury?", Maxwell called.

He didn't move from his position on the ground. Walking over slowly, Maxwell rounded his body, seeing the shirt-bag thrown on the ground with berries, carrots, and spider glands inside. 

Panic set in, though he would never admit it. Maxwell gently picked up Wilson with one arm, picking up the bag with his other.

They weren't all that far from base (and Maxwell was speed walking slightly). He spotted the low walls and looked down at Wilson. He was so much paler than before, he was always short, but he looked so small, definitely malnourished. He pushed open the gate, making everyone look over.

"Do we have badges?"

"Are you hurt, Maxwell?", Wickerbottom asked.

"No, Wilson is," he readjusted Wilson in his arm to show his face. 

"Oh dear… Webber! Can you get the medical bag?" Webber looked up from where he was feeding his friendly spider.

"Is everyone okay?", he asked once he got back with the bag.

"Yes. Set him down here," Wickerbottom pointed to the fur roll.

Nodding, Maxwell set Wilson down, flipping him onto his stomach so she could see the damage.

"Oh, where did he get this?", she ran her eyes over the deep punctures.

"I'm not sure, I just found him lying on the ground," Maxwell explained.

"I see. How do you know him?"

"I'll say once the rest come back, so I don't have to go over it more than once. Just please patch him up."

Wicker nodded, slightly surprised at the please thrown in. She started with stitching them closed with lines of thick string. It wasn't pretty, but it worked to hold the skin together. 

"Is he breathing?", Webber asked.

"Yes, he is alive," Wickerbottom nodded.

Webber walked over to Maxwell, keeping an eye on Wilson as he passed. Taking Maxwell's hand, Webber looked up at him.

"What are you doing?"

Webber slightly shrunk. "My mom used to do this for me when I was scared."

Maxwell sighed, lightly squeezing Webber's furry hand back.

"It'll be okay, I'm sure of it! Was he your friend?"

The corners of Maxwell's mouth perked up. "No, he wasn't. He actually despises me."

"Oh. Once he wakes up do you think he'll play with me?"

Maxwell raised an eyebrow. "I suppose so once he's better. He's fairly friendly once you know him."

Webber's cheeks puffed out. "How would you know that if you two didn't like each other?" 

"Remember how I used to rule?" Webber nodded. "I was able to watch Wilson, see how he worked. Understand?"

Webber nodded once again. "Come play with me, I know it's worse to watch."

Webber pulled Maxwell away and the two sat down next to the spider.


	6. Maxwell and Your Goddamn Attitude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maxwell is a son of a btich and I love him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He's way too nice and there's not enough angst so yes. Came up with this amalgamation and angst/Maxwell being a douche.
> 
> I will explain in later parts why Maxwell was being so nice mainly to try to get away from my horrible OOC.

Wilson was sitting at the fire poking the smoking Amber's with a stick when Maxwell came out of his tent.

"Wilson?", he called.

Wilson's hair bounced as he turned, a surprised look on his face. He nodded, rubbing his eyes.

"Did you sleep?" 

He shook his head. Maxwell sat down next to him. 

"You should go back to bed then."

"Can't," was all Wilson said.

"Why?"

"Hounds." 

Maxwell strained his ears, not hearing anything. 

"I don't hear any of them," he looked at Wilson.

"They stopped when you came out." He paused and faced the wall. "There."

Maxwell gave Wilson a look. "I don't think they're coming, we just had some come two days ago, pal."

Wilson furrowed his brows, "coming soon. Get others."

"They need to sleep. I highly doubt they're here, do you need a garland?"

Wilson shook his head, gripping his hair. "No. They're here! Just heard them…"

Maxwell listened once again. Nothing. 

"Let's go make ourselves useful." Maxwell got up, grabbing a basket from it's pile, handing one to Wilson.

Wilson held it, tilting his head.

"What? Never seen a basket, pal?"

Wilson glared, tucking his top lip under his bottom.

Maxwell began to pick their berries, tossing them into the basket. Wilson hurried along after the tall man, copying his actions on his own bush.

Maxwell turned to begin talking, but quickly noticed the red painting Wilson's mouth and fingers. Wilson paused, looking like a child who got caught taking the cookie jar, eyes wide as saucers. He chewed slowly and swallowed, giving Maxwell a sheepish smile.

"Wilson you…", Maxwell sighed, rubbing his forehead, "we need those for jam and turkey dinner."

Wilson looked down at the grass, his eyebrows tilted down and his arms clutching at the woven basket filled with five berries. Maxwell picked up Wilson by his scruff, bringing back over to the fire and unceremoniously dropping him down.

"You stay here, Higgsbury," Maxwell said, pointing at the ground like Wilson was stupid.

Wilson huffed as Maxwell walked away, using the Codex Umbra to summon clones. 

Is he always this nice? Wilson didn't trust him, obviously, since he trapped him in this hell. Though, part of him still likes Max from their time spent talking over the radio. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe happiness over another human not trudging over his heart? 

Wilson brought his legs up to his chest, using his arm to swipe the red juice off of his face. He was deep in thought, not noticing the people approaching from behind.

"Mr. Wilson!", Webber greeted, plopping down next to the raggedy man.

Wilson jumped, letting out a quiet gasp as he recoiled. He met eyes with Webber and shifted, calming down slightly. Wendy was talking to an old woman while others began to creep out of their tents, making Wilson's throat tighten in anxiety. How many people were there? Five? Seven?

He slowly took his time counting each, starting at Webber and Wendy, moving on to the old woman to Maxwell. He counted eight. Eight people all around him! This was too much. Going from talking specifically to pigs with only minimal English, to being surrounded with eight fully capable humans!

He almost felt a strain on his mind when he looked at them. Humans… Wow. He almost forgot what they looked like.

"Ah, good job at actually following instructions, Higgsbury," came Maxwell's condescending voice.

Wilson crinkled his nose, furrowing his brows as he scowled at the old man.

"Don't look at me like that, pal."

Wilson got up, slightly limping with his injured back. He was chest to lower torso with Maxwell. Curse Maxwell's not average height!

"You don't look scary, Wilson," Maxwell laughed. Wilson scowled even harder if that was possible. "Your wounds won't make you very helpful. Why don't you sit down."

Wilson finally leaped onto Maxwell, making the tall man lose his breath.

"I hope a deerclops stomps you to death," Wilson hissed.

"Can't do it yourself, pal?"

Wilson growled, "I could but I shouldn't have to waste my time on someone like you."

Maxwell grinned, "that's not very gentleman of you, pal-"

Wilson wrapped his hands around Maxwell's throat. "Don't call me that." Wilson squeezed as hard as he could, rage lacing his words.

"Get off, Higgsbury," Maxwell wheezed out.

"What are you going to do? Send me to the throne?" Tears trekked down Wilson's face. 

Wilson's grip loosened as he whimpered, placing his hands over his eyes. His back shook as he hunched over, his hair tickling Maxwell's chin. Said man was making deep, controlled breaths, pushing Wilson off of him.

Wilson took a breath and held it, getting up and taking off.

"Wilson get back here," Maxwell called with a scratchy voice.

Wilson's eyes scanned around until he found the gate, opening it and running out.


	7. Mama Wicker

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hella long part, usually it's only 400-800 words, this one is 1,000-something. I'm very happy with this story now that I'm not making Maxwell so damn N I C E.

Wilson could feel the group hunting for him. It was a visceral feeling, to know that you are the pray.

Wilson had made his own camp after he collapsed from exhaustion. Berries had grown a few feet away from his mini camp. He sat with his brows furrowed and his face resting on his knees as he heard the crunch of the autumn leaves. Whipping around, Wilson's eyes landed on Maxwell. 

"Here to torcher me?", Wilson grumbled.

"No," Maxwell simply answered as he gestured to the grass next to Wilson. Wilson nodded, watching as Maxwell took his spot on the leaves. 

The two men just sat, watching the small flame flicker. Wilson's throat clenched as he spotted the leftover red marks on Maxwell's neck. Wilson reached for them, making Maxwell slap his hand and recoil.

"Sorry," Wilson leaned back to his space,"do those hurt?"

"No, not really. More thumping than anything." Maxwell rubbed the mark's.

"I got mad. I'm really sorry. Too many people, too big of a change so I just… Snapped."

"I deserved that honestly. If you dragged me here and threw me on that throne, I would kill you until you had to use ten booster shots."

Wilson huffed a laugh. 

"Normally you would  _ never _ take responsibility. What are you trying to get at? Being nice and all."

Maxwell turned his head to look vaguely back in the direction of the camp.

"They told me I had to change my attitude if I wanted to not be thrown out to die. It's strange, seeing myself. It's like before I was on the throne and I was just a little magician who found something they shouldn't have."

Wilson nodded. "Part of me wishes we could have met on better terms. Though, I also want to see if we can figure something out more or less."

Maxwell nodded, crossing his arms. 

"Do you want to go back now?", Maxwell asked.

Not leaving room for Wilson's opinion, Maxwell got up, looking back at the pale man.

"Come."

Wilson followed in suit, watching as the sky changed from blue to mixes of purples, pinks, oranges, and reds. Sweat coated Wilson's hands at the thought of night and what dwells.

"What was the night creature?"

Maxwell paused, contemplating the question.

"Someone who should never have came here. My assistant and close friend, Charlie," Maxwell said through a tight throat.

Wilson nodded. "I'm sorry."

"Not much can be done. Her wraith towards me is nonexistent, though I can't blame her if she still harbors ill intent to me."

Wilson bit the side of his tongue as he answered, "I can understand. How come she didn't let you go?"

"I almost wanted to stay, you know? Something about being on the top. I also told her not to, They would not be pleased if I was let go by her," Maxwell explained, taking a torch out of his backpack. "Are you hungry?", he asked.

Wilson shook his head, not minding the change of topic. "What happened once I got you out? How did you meet the others?"

"Were you not watching?" Maxwell cocked his head questioningly.

"Not then, not after we failed with the portal. I didn't want to see our mistake. I was mostly trying to find a way out, obviously. I was also trying to find a way to destroy that damn music in my head."

Maxwell let out a small, huffy chuckle. "Ah, yes, that. I was hoping it would stay off for you. I can still hear it."

Wilson smiled lightly, though that fell when the sky turned navy blue, making the ground slowly turn black and unseeable. Swiping the torch on some flint, Maxwell held the torch up. Wilson, ever so terrified of the dark in the Constant, barreled right into Maxwell in a blind panic.

"Careful you baboon! Don't make the torch go out," Maxwell hissed.

Wilson, ignoring the insult in favor of panic, apologized, "sorry. I'm not a fan of the dark anymore." 

Cold bit at Wilson's chest, making him wrap his arms around his still bare torso.

"Here," Maxwell said, handing Wilson his overcoat.

"You don't have to-"

"Well I am, just take it," Maxwell interrupted, putting the long, fluffy coat over Wilson's shoulders.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Really, don't."

Wilson nodded, letting out a small smile, the corners of his lips twitching up. The walk was quiet, with the occasional croak from a quietly sleeping frog. 

The two arrived at the fort as dawn broke.

Maxwell sat Wilson down with his jacket still wrapped around his shoulders. The old woman was already up, reading a book while occasionally tossing a stick or log into the fire pit.

"Wickerbottom?", the lady looked up at Maxwell, "can you watch him?"

"And why can't you, Maxwell dear?" Her voice was sweet, like a big honey bee nest. 

"I need to fetch food for the others with Wigfrid, he's already injured."

Wickerbottom nodded, "I shall watch him then. Though, I don't understand why an adult has to be watched."

"He may look like an adult, but he's really a child in a trenchcoat," Maxwell whispered, making the old lady crack a smile.

"Are yöu ready tö gö send beasts tö Valhalla?" Wigfid said as she jumped out of her tent, fists up, one clutching a spear like it was going to break and the other up clenched tightly. 

Maxwell sighed, taking the Codex in his arm, "yes." He turned back around to look at Wilson. "Be a good boy for Mrs. Wickerbottom."

Wilson furrowed his brows, poking his bottom lip out in frustration. Maxwell liked the reaction, causing the man to let out a laugh.

"So, dear, I hear your name is Wilson? I'm Wickerbottom, I was the one who put on your bandages and stitches." Wilson's expression turned from sour to thankful in two seconds, making Wickerbottom smile and continue. "You gave us quite the fright when you showed up bloody in Maxwell's arms."

Wilson pulled the large jacket closer to his body, wanting the warmth to swallow him.

"I'm assuming you came through the portal Maxwell made later?" 

That one question had the power to make Wilson's mind go blank. He watched Maxwell make that; he  _ helped _ . Part of him envies Maxwell, though he knows Maxwell thought it would work as well. The plain panic on the older man's face when eight bodies flew through the portal was telling enough. 

Wilson shook his head.

"What do you mean? Is there another?" Wickerbottom turned horrified. "Are there even  _ more  _ people being sent here to die?"

Wilson quickly shook his head, bringing his hands up. He shakily said, "no, only one. We made no more. Didn't know others would come."

"Maxwell…", she sighed and rubbed her forehead. "He fooled you into bringing us here?"

"No. We both thought it was to get us out. He made it. I was… Occupied." Butterflies danced in Wilson's stomach, threatening to come up.

"Ah." The mood shifted as she shut her book, gently putting it on the log she was sitting on. "Do you want to help in the garden? It would be nice to have an extra eye for the children."

Wilson nodded, walking with his arms tightly clutching Maxwell's coat.

"Mr. Wilson!", Webber exclaimed, hugging Wilson's waist. "I was worried!"

"Hello Wilson," Wendy greeted. "I don't think you've met my sister, Abigail."

Wilson smiled lightly, scientific mystery of how a ghost was actually real, but not the strangest thing he's seen.

Abigail floated up to him, letting out a soft 'ooh'.

"She said hello," Wendy translated.

"Hi, Abigail, pleasure to meet you."

"Come help us with the beefalo Mr. Wilson!", Webber called, quickly dragging Wilson over to the large pen.

"Careful, Webber," both Wendy and Wickerbottom called.

"I will," Webber called back.


	8. More Webber Becuase  F u c k  Y e s

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much Webber because I swear that kid is the best friend machine ever (except for pigs and rabbitmen. Those two are meanies)
> 
> Also Webber was my first main so I love him-

"This is Lucy and Jacob and Willie and oh there's Gregory," Webber listed.

Wilson, sitting on the fence, watched as Webber took a bucket and scooped up manure, occasionally telling Wilson the beefalo's name, though Wilson highly doubts that Webber actually named them beforehand. This wasn't the life a spider-child or a child in general should have. The realization of these childs' existence makes Wilson realize just how bad this world really is.

"Mr. Wilson?", Webber called, nearing the unmoving legs of Wilson.

Wilson hummed, darting his head up quickly.

"I can't shave them well, can you help?"

The child was way too short to reach the top of the beefalos' backs.

"Shouldn't they be sleeping?", Wilson asked.

"We usually do it when they're awake. I heard Mrs. Wickerbottom talking to Mrs. Winona about the tamed herd," Webber said as he handed Wilson the larger-than-usual razor.

Wilson half-listened to Webber's ramblings as he got to work with shaving the beefalo. Webber was handing them grass as Wilson drug the razor gently over the beefalo's skin, ridding them of their hair. The slight panic of doing this with the hairy beasts awake was strong, but tame enough to trudge through.

Webber was sitting on the scratchy ground of the beefalo pen, talking about whatever came to mind.

"So, how long have you been here? We've been here for three months of what Mr. Maxwell says."

"I've been here for more than one year. I don't keep track of time well, maybe it's been ten years?" With that thought looming overhead, Wilson picked up a little bit of thick grass, begining to tie all of the wool into manageable chunks.

"Wow, that so long. How did you and Maxwell meet? He said he would help me make friends." Looking at the ground, Webber mumbled, "I didn't know he would make a spider eat me."

Wilson paused. "He said he would give me forbidden knowledge."

"He didn't?"

"No, he did, just not the kind I was thinking of," Wilson hissed out, his fists clenching with his nails digging deeply into his palms.

"Mr. Wilson?", Webber quietly called, taking Wilson's hand.

Wilson, shaking his head, loosened his hands, bringing them out of the warm paws to continue tieing the wool together.

"I know Willow and maybe the others blame you and Maxwell for bringing them here. I don't. I know neither of you would do that," Webber reassures.

"You don't even know me," Wilson brought up.

"Yeah, but I've talked to you enough."

Wilson shook his head. 'Trust will kill this kid,' he thought.

"Common," Webber jumped up suddenly, grabbing the two manure filled buckets up. "Let's bring these to Mrs. Wickerbottom."

Wilson nodded, but handed the armfuls of wool to the child, taking the heavy buckets from him.

"But you're hurt!"

Wilson shook his head, continuing on as Webber told him to set down the buckets. Dropping the buckets next to the fancy farm plots, Wilson sat on the ground, still clutching the oversized jacket on his shoulders.

Wickerbottom was going off about how he's injured and he shouldn't take big loads. Wilson's ears strained as he heard a rustle of leaves and creaking of wood. Standing up, Wilson neared the large picket wall, his arms in front of him defensively.

The three were silent, occasionally looking at each other as Wilson scanned the walls. Wilson was quickly thrown down by a hound on his chest, snarling and howling. Putting his left arm up, Wilson blocked the incoming bite aimed at his face, though it landed on his arm. The hound clamped, adding another set of deep teeth marks in using arms. 

Yelping, Wilson flailed his arms, eventually hitting the hound smack-dab in his eye. The dog, reeling back, gave enough time for Wilson to jump onto the large wolf-like beast, pulling on hair and digging his hands in the thing's ears. The hound, growing enraged, reared back, knocking Wilson down onto a white picket from the gardens.

Wilson growled, fending off the one hound until another three barreled through the wall. He gasped lightly, one of the hounds barreling into his stomach. His stitching tore open, sending shocking pain down in his body. Letting out a short, pain filled scream, Wilson fruitlessly flailed his arms, making the hounds flinch back slightly before they all clamped down on a different part of him at once.

They pulled and growled, their saliva burning his new wounds. Being rendered useless, Wilson laid on the grass, boneless. The yell of Wigfrid and the flash of red hair made Wilson jump up, seemingly alive once again. He skittered back, just barely getting away from the approaching hound. Said dog took a slash at his face, making Wilson reel back. He wasn't fast enough and the beast caught his eyebrow, it's nail getting lodged in his skin before being pulled out, making a large, deep wound begin to weep blood into his eye. 

His arms ached and his shoulders were tense, the muscles not recovering from the adrenaline just yet. Wilson let out huffing breaths, looking down at the bodies before turning around and looking at the others. They were all tending to their (and in turn, each other's) wounds. It was pretty minimal, a few scuffs and bites. 

Wilson fell down, suddenly his legs were weak. It wasn't blood loss, not this soon. He put his hand on his shoulder, just holding the edge as he came back from the rush.

"Come 'ere, pal," Maxwell said, patting the log beside him.

Wilson, not up for a debate and in dire need for assistance, obliged. He slumped down, fatigue and pain swallowing his body.

"That was fairly stupid; why'd you do that?", Maxwell asked.

Wilson gave him a look, eyebrows furrowed.

"Sassy," Maxwell mumbled. "Your stitching is torn."

Wilson nodded. As if he didn't already notice that!

Maxwell, not keen on sewing, just used honey poultice to stick the skin together. The honey seeped into his skin, the bee's honey much, much more sticky here than back home. He used the strange mixture of stone, spider glands, and ash on the rest of Wilson's wounds, slathering the cuts and gashes with a tangy, antiseptic goop.

Wilson, now used to the sharp stinging, only flinched twice, making Maxwell look up at him and tell him to hold still with mild annoyance.

"Didn't listen in morning," Wilson said. "Why I did that."

"I know now shut up," Maxwell said through clenched teeth.

"Sorry." Wilson shrunk back.

Maxwell took a breath and shook his head, shoving the rest of the goop on to his cut on his eyebrow, sticking a small bit of bandage onto the wound with the help of some anti-bacterial honey.

Dusk began to fall, making the others begin to set up the fire, already lighting it. Wilson cocked his head, it seems like a waste of fuel to light it so soon. Maxwell picked up the materials he used to patch Wilson, walking away to sit by the fire with the others.

Wilson remained on his long, feeling the luck of the air. Perhaps winter? He didn't have his thermometer any longer (even thinking that made his heart hurt). Hearing the crunch of leaves made Wilson quickly turn around, seeing Webber with a sleeping spider in his arms.

"I didn't see you at the fire," Webber said, taking a spot next to Wilson. "I thought you might be lonely."

Wilson sent Webber a tired smile, ruffling the spider-child's fur on their head.

"I think it's not nice to be alone," Webber nodded, almost solidifying his observation.

Wilson hummed.

"What did you do before you came here? I used to go to school. I really like history."

"I lived alone, doing science."

"Maxwell said you lived in a shack," Webber giggled.

"You can call it that. All I could afford," Wilson said.

"Dad used to do a lot of science. He used machines and bottles with stuff inside of them, I didn't see him much."

Wilson hummed. "I never saw my father either, though I think your experience is wildly different than mine."

"Why didn't you see your dad?", Webber innocently questioned.

"He wanted me to be like my brother, manly."

"Do you think I'm manly, Mr. Wilson?", he asked.

"Most than I've ever seen." Wilson gave the kid a shoulder bump, looking at Webber out of the corner of his eye.

Webber let out a huge grin, his sharp teeth flush against his bottom ones.

"It's getting dark," Webber observed.

Wilson nodded, humming in the affirmative. Standing up, Wilson beckoned Webber with a wave of his hand, allowing the child to lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went to 1,444 some words with this one since the last long one was well received! I will probably cut it back sooner or later, but I mostly go until the part is at a good spot to end.


	9. Fuuuuuuuuuge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilson has an uh-oh moment and Willow is very aggressive.

Awaking with the chatter of people will never get old. Wilson looked to the roof of the tent, then to his side. The children must be already doing chores.

Getting up, Wilson fought the urge to stretch in fear of ripping his wounds again. He pushed the door open, finding the children over by the berries, carrots, saplings and grass.

He wandered over to the fire, slumping down and pulling his knees to his chest, hiding his lower face in his arms. It was still overwhelming, seeing people for the first time in God knows how long.

Wilson feels horrible, he was the reason everyone was here. He's the reason children are subjected to this madness. Wilson clenched his jaw, rubbing his knuckles on his cheek to resist the urge to punch himself in the jugular. No matter that, there's work to be done. Standing up, Wilson started towards the gate, opening it with a creak.

"Where are you going?", Willow asked, tapping her foot.

Wilson faced her with surprise. "Out," he said as he pointed with a tense look.

"Don't do anything and fuck shit up," she neared him, getting chest to chest with Wilson. "I don't trust you as far as I could throw a damn house, I even trust  _ Maxwell _ more than you. Don't try shit," she hissed and stomped away.

Butterflies flew up from Wilson's stomach, making him quickly sprint out of the gate, getting as far away from the camp as he could before throwing up, all of his food coming up. He cried, clutching his abdomen as his stomach churned. Thank the lord that nothing else came up.

Getting up with teary eyes, Wilson walked away, the anxiety of going back strong. 

'Who said you had to go back?', he asked himself.

No, he would say something like that.

"Who's there?", he asked before he could stop himself.

Nothing answered his call.

He shook his head, picking flowers as he continued on his way. Where was he going? Wilson reached a green land. It looked like a paradise, secluded, alone. Perfect.

Wilson threw himself to the ground, laying on his side before he flipped over, ignoring the splitting pain in his back. The sky was a blue, but it was off, just barely noticeable that it was slightly grey. Either rain or snow. He doesn't have anything on him, so nothing will get wet if it's rain. Taking his shoes off, he dipped his feet into the sea.

Just the little luxuries. 'Luxury,' he scoffed. 'As if.'

So, he brought everyone here? He was the reason why they're suffering? They obviously don't like him much (discounting Webber, he's just too trusting). Would it be better if he was just dead? Would they be better off with one less mouth to feed?

Nodding to himself, Wilson walked a little further, finding a blunt chunk of flint. Taking the flint, he smashed the side onto a rock until it broke into the desired sharp shape. 

'Perfect,' he thought.

Yeah, perfect. He walked back to the spot, looking at the flint before bringing it to his neck before shaking his head. It's not possible to do it that way. He peered down at his arms, yes. Perfect.

He bent his wrist, finding a thick vein. He put the sharp rock on his arm before hesitating. He tried so hard to live, does that mean he even wants to die? Wilson glanced at the flint before growling in anger, letting out a yell as he threw the flint into the water, thumping his hand on the ground.

Every curse word he knew was streaming through his head. What is  _ wrong with him _ ?! Wilson lifted his heavy body, putting a hand on his forehead before he shook it, glaring back at the water like it was it's fault he was here.

Walking back around, he found another piece of flint and a sapling nearby. Fusing the two into an ax, he began to cut a good few trees down, maybe two or three before his wounds prohibited him. Collecting the logs, he started back to camp. This was just to say he did something when he was out.

He also passes berry bushes, picking the berries off and storing them in his pocket. Gross, but who'll know? 

Once he made it with the wood still under his arms, Wilson walked over to the fire and put the few logs down. He sat down and leaned against them as the others noticed his existence.

"Hello, dear," Wickerbottom greeted. Wilson nodded in response, taking out his slightly smashed, warm berries from his pocket, beginning to munch on them. 

It took a moment for Webber to begin gushing about his day, saying how he was sad Wilson couldn't have played with him and his friends. Wilson just nodded along, didn't input much to the conversation, though Webber didn't seem to mind. The conversation was fueled by rambling and innocent talk, mostly about Webber and his spider colony of friends.

It was dark by the time Wendy, Webber and Wilson were ushered to bed. 

In the light of the lantern in the tent, Webber asked, "what's that?", and pointed at Wilson's neck.

Wilson hummed, looking and Wendy for input.

"It's a cut. Bleeding, we should put something on it," she said, continuing to shift her flower around and look at Abigail.

Both Webber and Wilson nodded. Webber insisted that he was an adult and can help fix cuts (even though he's about 10, like Wendy). Wilson shrugged, what's the worst that could happen? He could die? Does he care? Not really in retrospect. Webber put a bandage around his neck and cleaned the bit of dried blood that streamed down his neck.

He must have pressed too hard with the flint and hadn't noticed.

All three laying down, Wilson switched off the lantern, allowing the three to sleep with only relative relaxation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so some of you have probably already noticed that this is now a m/m and a Wilson/Maxwell. Sorry if you really were hoping for a gen work, I just can't help myself lol.
> 
> I originally didn't like any of the ships, but I slowly fell in love with Wilson/Maxwell and Willow/Charlie. I'm worried that some of you may be disappointed and maybe angry at me, so I'm already sorry for that. I just got so inspired to do stuff with this ship and thought this one would be perfect. 
> 
> Again, sorry if you don't like it, but I'll make this a slow burn, so I'll say when the romance will begin and try to still make this a gen work for slightly longer for those who want it.
> 
> Again, I'm sorry if I disappointed you, you can be mad at me. 😬


	10. Arguing, Yay! (Also Winona Being a Pal)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where Winona is good and mad Wilson is fun Wilson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't know where to end, so what did I do? I just kept on going until I saw fit. Long part! There's some threatening Willow, reassuring Winona, and arguing Wilson and Maxwell, everything I love for this story!

Wilson was attempting to integrate, but it wasn't really working. He was doing small things, picking berries, feeding the bird, entertaining the kids for Wickerbottom, things like that. Currently he was assisting Wickerbottom, the children, and a very enthusiastic viking to do one of the most time consuming things: picking berries. The female (which Wilson identified as Wigfrid thanks to Webber) was there to fight the occasional gobbler that was hiding in a bush.

Why did this group have so many plants? Oh it was taking ages just to get through two of them and now he has 20 more? Wilson grumbled under his breath as he continued with picking the damn berries. He now hates these things even more than before, who decided to make juicy, red, ideally perfect berries taste so horrid?

'Maxwell,' he told himself as a beak peaked out from the bush by his knee.

Gasping in surprise, he jumped back slightly, nearly dropping his basket in the process. A little baby gobbler waddled out from the bush, it's eyes boring into his basket of berries. Wilson crouched down, taking a few and handing them to the gobbler. Hence the name, the gobbler quickly inhaled the berries, looking back at his hand with interest. The little bastard pecked his hand and began nawing on his nails! He chuckled, giving it more before it skittered away, cooing and gobbling as it shot into another bush.

Continuing his chore (because that was what it was, a chore), he made it through one more bush before giving up. He was just so exhausted.

"My back's hurting," he said to Wickerbottom.

The old lady nodded, noting that it was a good time for him to rest. True to Wilson's word, his back was hurting, but it's not like he needed to sit down, he just didn't want to look at those cursed berry bushes any longer. Visions of red berries that tasted as bad as a fluffy ball of rotten food plagued his dreams.

He walked over to the campfire, sitting down right before Willow followed. She sat directly next to him, staring into his soul with an intensity equal to being frozen or set ablaze, whichever works.

"I don't know what you're trying to get at,"she started, "but just know it won't work on me. I know Maxwell and you knew that the portal would send us here. You're doing something, so just know that if you don't stop, there's gonna be a whole world of fire before you." She clicked open her lighter for effect as she got up, glaring the whole way before Wilson averted his eyes.

Oh God, oh God she's going to kill him in his sleep. He put his hands on his checks, really not feeling looking into the slowly dwindling fire in the firepit at the moment. Wilson was disturbed, even after Wickerbottom, the children, and Wigfrid came over to drop off their baskets and turkey legs next to the crockpots.

"Are you alright?", Wendy asked, the nervous aura from Abigail bleeding over to her.

"Yeah," Wilson squeaked, sounding not the least bit truthful.

"Is it Willow? I know she doesn't trust you, but give her time and she'll come around. Originally she was on the edge with Warly and even Winona, but now she's as close to them as siblings."

"You're very full of wisdom for a ten year old," Wilson said, chuckling.

"People often say that. Fair warning, I've noticed your quiet nature to the others, so I thought I would tell you. Warly is coming back today, he was out on a small expedition to get more foods."

Wilson nodded and thanked her silently, dipping his head down to show his appreciation for the notice. Wendy quirked a small smile and got up, going to where Webber was sitting with the beefalo.

Winona (if he was remembering correctly) sat down in front of him, putting kindling in the fire to begin cooking two rabbits. 

"How are you holding up?", she asked, quickly shooting Wilson a look saying, 'yes, I'm talking to you.'

Wilson nodded then shrugged.

"Better than bad," she shrugged, continuing with, "I'm betting it's Willow, huh?"

Wilson startled. "Is she known for that?", he asked.

"Kinda, she did it to everyone, not including the kids," she answered. 

Wilson snorted, 'no wonder.'

"Don't shoot that look at me, Willow's fine, she just needs time," Winona warned, shaking a stick at him.

Wilson sunk to the floor.

"Don't let me dampen your mood, you'll be fine, I greentree it," she affirmed, passing a cooked rabbit to him. "Here ya' are, you're looking a bit skinny, boy."

Wilson's hackles rose at the word, "boy", he's 30, not a boy. He nodded as a silent thank you, beginning to dig in. Manners thrown out the river in favor of survival was decided long ago, but then he didn't have anyone watching him guzzle food and water down. Pausing, he swallowed and ate slower, making Winona chuckle.

"We all do it, Wilson, don't fret."

Wilson sent a thankful smile over, already feeling full by the time he ate half. Starving will do that to you.

"Done?", Winona asked. Nodding, Wilson looked back up at her for instructions. "I'll shove it in the fridge for later, just take it out once you're hungry."

Wilson watched her as she walked over to the lines of crockpots, now he knows where it is.

"We gotta get your hunger back up n' stuff you full," she said as she was head deep in the fridge. Wilson hummed. "Yeah? Aha, here," she retreated and handed Wilson a wooden cup.

He looked at it, then at her before she realized and said, "go get some water, don't want you dehydrated."

He nodded, being led to the pond by Winona. Wilson crouched down and rested on his knees, scooping water and drinking before his brain kicked in, making him guzzle it down.

Winona had left, perhaps to do chores? Whatever, he didn't care, there's water right in front of him! He continued swallowing gulps of water for hours, he could do this for days! He didn’t notice how dehydrated he was until his eyes filled with water, making them overflow and water.

He gasped a breath, returning to guzzling it down.

"You're going to throw up if you keep that pace going, pal," Maxwell said, surprising Wilson and making him flip around, holding his fists up. "Woah, careful, it's just me."

"Sorry," he apologized, "I still forget people are here."

"Yeah, I know. It took me a while to get used to it as well. These people are good, don't worry."

Wilson gave a little sly grin, "you do have a soul, huh?"

"Shut up, you know I do," Maxwell growled, taking the cup away.

"Hey!"

"Ah, ah, ah, you're going to throw up if you drink any more," Maxwell shook his head.

"Give it! I won't get hurt!", Wilson demanded.

Maxwell held up the cup with one arm, the other propped up onto his hip as Wilson jumped up, fruitlessly attempting to reach the cup.

"Short bastared," Maxwell mumbled.

"Tall fucker," Wilson hissed back.

Wilson crossed his arms and pouted while Maxwell put the cup away.

"Dick," Wilson grumbled, tapping his foot.

"You're not any better, pal," Maxwell called back.

"I- why you piece of shit," Wilson screeched, baring teeth. 

"Keep trying, Higgsburry," Maxwell chided.

"You're the worst, Maxwell," Wilson crinked his nose.

"Again, you're not better. You're a failed scientist and a failed son, don't start," Maxwell poked Wilson's chest.

"That was low, even for you, Maxwell! At least I didn't doom my coworker and best friend to an eternity of pain," Wilson threw back, shoving Maxwell away.

People's attention were caught by the loud voices as they gathered around the two.

"I'm not the one who closed myself away from everyone to continue with something that would never happen. How many experiments actually worked, huh?", Maxwell asked, venom laced with his question.

Wilson growled, gritting his teeth, "I didn't make a promise that led to many people being slaughtered and alone for entertainment, Maxwell, that was you."

"You know I didn't do that, you're just pulling insults out of your ass," Maxwell leaned in close, growling.

"You can't blame Them for you're want of being above everyone, that was all you. I can't believe you went after me of all people. Why couldn't you have gotten criminals? Why normal, completely sane people?"

"It was Them, Wilson! You're just being blind now! Why am I even arguing, you can't argue with an idiot now can you?"

Wilson stalled, his shoulders going tense. "I'm not the idiot!"

"Then who is?!"

"You, idiot! You were the one who went on that train, you were the one who chased after fame, you were the one who got here! You played with things out of your control, you dolt!"

"At least I didn't make the portal to get everyone here!"

"Because of your stupid mistakes! You couldn't! You were tied to the throne!"

Everyone had now watched the arguing, only Wickerbottom and the children weren't there.

"And you were stupid enough to think that a mysterious voice on the radio was trustworthy!"

"At least I didn't lure someone to their suffering!", Wilson yelled, making fists in his anger.

"And you were the one who didn't listen to me when I said, "don't put the key in"!", Maxwell yelled back.

"Because I wanted to help you, Maxwell! You're so ignorant and just STUPID!"

Oh was the arguing doing wonders for their sanity.

"And you did it anyway!"

"Did you literally not just hear me?! I WANTED TO HELP YOU!", Wilson screamed, slightly raising his fists.

"And look where that had got you! Stuck on the throne to do what? Save me?"

"Can you please just be not self-centered for ONE SECOND?!" Raising his fists all the way to his face, Wilson swung, but was quickly stopped by a shadow.

"Wilson stop," Maxwell said firmly, his sanity slightly better than Wilson's which was at a low of ten.

"Let go of me you frail man!", Wilson hissed, pulling on the shadow clones grasp.

"Your sanity is low, you should have told me conflict wasn't good for you! And yes, I know I'm frail."

Wilson made an exasperated, loud groan. "You always find a way to turn your mistakes onto me, don't you?"

"Yes, yes I do."

Maxwell plopped a garland on Wilson's puffy hair, the clone holding Wilson's wrist dissipating.

"I hate you," Wilson growled.

"I know," Maxwell answered while making his own crown, "I do as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like writing ruthless arguing. It's g r e a t.


	11. Oop-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DOUBLE UPLOAD! WOOH!
> 
> Hey, been a while hasn't it? This is a great example of how it might seem like I've abandoned one of my works, but I really haven't. It's been- what? Around eight months? My writing has gotten much better and now I'm back to occasionally update this.
> 
> This is my present to you! Happy whatever holiday you celebrate!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy, again, my gift to you.❤️

Maxwell and Wilson had both calmed down, no longer does Wilson have to feel like the scum of the Earth.

Tinkering with Winona, Wilson was resting his back while Chester, like a faithful dog, sat on his lap.

"You and Maxwell better?", she asked.

Wilson nodded, although she couldn't see since she was head deep in some sort of machine. "Uh, yes."

"Good, we don't need anymore squaling from you two," she said, flicking her wrench at Wilson for added effect.

"Sorry," Wilson apologized.

"Don't be. Maxwell's a handful."

Wilson nodded, getting up as he said, "I'm going to the alchemy engine to tweak it."

Winona hummed, flicking her wrench once again.

Doing as he said, he went over to the covered alchemy machine, opening the back to show all of the ugly wiring. It looked…  _ Exceptionally messy _ . There was Wilson’s type of messy then there was a  _ I-don’t-know-what-the-fuck-I’m-doing _ messy. No doubt Maxwell built this. Wilson would have to pull this thing apart bolt for bolt if he wanted it to work optimally.

It was on the cusp of winter, hopefully this one would be plentiful with food. Maybe with neither Wilson nor Maxwell at the helm, it’ll be much more forgiving. That’s what he’s hoping. Hoping to the god above that it’ll be warmer, that food will be more common.

It’s been a few days since Maxwell and Wilson had last fought and that was a damn merical. Like, don’t get Wilson wrong, he’s still fucking pissed, but he’s not actively mad  _ at  _ Maxwell. He was just inexplicably angry, even with the peoples around him’s morale being weirdly high. Something about the first snow or something of the such, a thing that would be celebrated in the  _ old world _ . 

He’s not going to be the one to tell them that though, to tell them that all the food they’re wasting with a “grand meal” should be saved, the extra large turkey dinner they’re making should be taken apart and the turkey breast and the drumsticks should be dried into jerky, the berry jam should be saved in a jar, the cactus should be saved for the depths of the caves, the garnish underneath the breast being grass (yes, litteral  _ grass for garnish _ ) should be used for spears, log suits, football helmets, and miner helmet. They didn’t have a miner helmet or football helmets or log suits though, they didn’t have backpacks or coats, no advanced gardens or log walls. 

They didn’t have any of the things he had. That made him feel oddly… Special? Lucky? Smart? All of the above? He didn’t really want to tell them anything, but he quickly shook his head, being shocked by a wire in the process.

_ See!  _ He hissed at himself in his head.  _ Even the damn wires think you’re being unreasonable _ !

He decided to stop thinking now. Issue throughout his entire life: thinking way too much, it’s a really big problem. To get him to stop thinking, you would have to lobotomize him, and that would take a good amount of struggling too. Wilson started thinking about lobotomies, then about his father from the fact he had told Wilson he wanted him to, “get you brain muddled so you will shut the fuck up,” then about his mother, then his brother, then his family as a whole, then the group he was currently with. 

By this point he had taken the majority of the alchemy engine apart and had seen the problem: an intake pipe that was going from the top where the rods were to the actual engine part of the alchemy engine had a literal  _ gear stabbed through it _ . Wires were also twisted and connected to wrong ports and one blue one was hardcore singed nearly in half. Maxwell would have had really bad issues reading what the hell Wilson’s blueprints ment (honestly anyone would), so Maxwell definitely didn’t make this. It was close to working, just needed a new intake pipe, blue wire (or any other color that was not in the machine would work, the whole rainbow was basically in there by this point), and the two fuses. He purposely put two fuses (or, as he calls them for shits and giggles,  _ electrical doodads. _ He was so very alone) for two reasons, one, he would always have a backup in case one went out and two, to make the engine run faster and perform better.

Wilson was squinting at the intake pipe as he reached down for the wrench Winona had lended him to, hopefully, get the cog out of the intake pipe. Wilson patted around as he didn’t take his eye off of the pipe and his hand landed on a tattered, leather shoe, he patted up the leg before looking up. He was patting up Maxwell’s leg. Wilson ripped his hand away, laying it on his thigh as he was sitting on his ankles.

“Oh, Maxwell, hello,” Wilson greeted.

“Higgsbury,” Maxwell nodded, “have you found the issue yet?”

“Hm?” Wilson followed where he was gesturing to: the alchemy engine. “Yes, many things.”

“Do you need anything for it? We’re going to be going out soon. Any miscellaneous items for yourself?”

Wilson was slightly stunned,  _ Maxwell, asking me for what I want _ ?

“Um,” Wilson didn’t want to ask for anything, he didn’t want to burden them. He could get his own materials without putting others in danger. He’s already done that so much.

“Wilson,” Maxwell crouched with creaky joints, “we can get them without dying, you just work on the engine.”

Wilson gave in and deflated. “Stone, two cut stones, maybe four if you can? Two gold for each cut stone.” Wilson dipped his head back into the alchemy engine, digging out the frayed blue wire. “Gold would work. One other gold nugget for this.”

Maxwell nodded slowly, he was acting like he knew what Wilson was talking about.

“Mhm. The gold, why so much?”

Maxwell had never seemed interested in anything Wilson had ever worked on before. Wilson was extremely pleased, though.

“I need new electrical doodads, so I need more gold and cut stone, two cut stone and four gold for two of them. Gold is conductive, so I can use it to repair this frayed wire. I haven't found anything in this world more conductive than gold. There isn’t any copper or silver, which would work much better. Gold outlasts both, though, so in terms of longevity, gold is better.”

“And the stone?”, Maxwell asked.

“Here, look.” Wilson gestured into the open panel of the engine. “The intake pipe there is punctured, I can fix it with cut stone.” Maxwell nodded.

“Anything for you?”

“Hm?”

“You gave me everything you needed for survival, but not anything you wanted, pal.”

“I didn’t even really think about it,” Wilson said quietly. “I haven’t had time to make things for myself in a while.” Wilson smiled. “This is of utmost importance, Maxwell. I need as much silk as you can possibly get.” It’s getting colder and colder, these people are going to freeze. How did they make it past all of these winters?

Maxwell raised a brow but didn’t push it. Winona wandered over with a roll of duct tape.

“Thought you could use some of this,” Winona said, handing Wilson the roll.

“Thank you kindly.”

“Have you found the problem? I’ve been trying to figure that thing out since the start, haven't been able to.”

Wilson nodded, hair bouncing as Maxwell said, “it doesn’t make sense since Wilson made it.”

Wilson wasn’t going to let that bother him, but he did scowl at Maxwell. “Yes, I have. The intake pipe is punctured, the electrical doodads are busted, wires were connected to wrong ports, and this wire is completely singed.”

“Oh boy,” Winona scratched her head, leaning on her right leg. “You have quite a bit of work to do.”

“No, it won’t take that long.” Wilson looked down at the tape in his hand, then to the damaged intake pipe. Using his teeth, he bit off a piece of tape, slapping it into the hole. “There, one thing knocked off of my list already.”

Winona laughed and went to talk to Warly, of whom was cooking dinner. Maxwell nodded with a strange prideful look and walked away to chat with Wendy and Abigail.

“Wilson, dear?”, Wickerbottom called. Wilson stood to attention with his head tilted. “Be a darling and help us bring this to the table.”

Wickerbottom gestured to a large turkey breast. Looking around, Wilson found Warly and Winona putting out mash potatoes. This turkey will definitely take two people to lift. Maxwell’s shadow was glad to help, walking over to assist Wilson with the turkey. Wilson shot Maxwell a thankful smile before realizing that  _ Maxwell just helped him what _ ? The turkey made a loud thump as Wilson and the clone dropped it off. The clone watched Wilson for a second before dissipating at Maxwell’s command. 

_ Curious _ .

The tree was being decorated by Maxwell, Webber, Wendy, and Abigail. Willow was being occupied by Winona as far away from the tree as they could be which was entertaining. Willow sneered at Wilson when she noticed he was looking, making Wilson frown deeply and snap his eyes back to the tree with a troubled expression.

“We will dine tonight,” Wickerbottom announced. 

“Thank you for making our food, Warly,” Wendy politely thanked. 

Warly smiled brightly. “Of course.”

It was sweet to see everyone dine and fill their faces, Wilson won’t lie, but someone had to keep watch. He wasn’t hungry anyways, no matter how his stomach was complaining. He’s not hungry, he’s not hungry, he’s not, he’s not. Two steps behind ihm had Wilson flipping around, fists raised.

“I knew you hated me, pal, but I didn’t know it was that much.” It was Maxwell, it was just Maxwell.

“Sorry,” Wilson apologized. He turned back around stiffly.

“What are you doing out here?”, Maxwell asked. 

“Keeping watch, someone needs to.”

Maxwell looked around for a second before crossing his arms, he looks cold. “Nothing is out here, Higsbury.”

“Better to be safe,” Wilson said. The group would get punished if they aren’t on alert 24/7.

“Wigfrid went out and found nothing.”

Wilson was getting frustrated,  _ does Maxwell not know how this works _ ?

“Yeah, earlier today, now it's late,” Wilson let Maxwell know.

“Pal, nothing’s out there.” Maxwell shivered. “Now come and eat.”

Wilson grit his teeth. “No! That’s not how this works!”

“Then how does it?! Enlighten me, Higsbury!”

Wilson pointed at Maxwell, getting chest to- uh- stomach with the other man. “You let your guard down you’ll die, you don’t have your eyes open and your ears sharp you’ll die, you do something for yourself for  _ one second  _ you will die. You should know this, Maxwell! You made this world!”

Maxwell shivered, the breeze had picked up slightly. “Wilson,” Maxwell took a breath, “nothing is out here. Are you. . . Worried about not being on the throne. . .?”

Wilson paused. Holy shit Maxwell cracked the code. Wilson  _ is  _ worried about that.

“I just. . . Maxwell, what are the rules anymore? What can we plan for?”

Wilson had deflated, shoulders slack and head falling onto his chest.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Maxwell said quietly, looking down at the ground as well. “We’ll all just have to, I don’t know, get used to things?”

“But what if things don’t stay the same each season? What if we just can’t even plan? What will we do then?”

“I don’t know, Wilson. I might have been able to know if I knew who was on the throne, I could at least guess then, but I just don’t have a plan anymore. I was able to guess with you, I had bet you wouldn’t change much, or you would be able to fight Them and make everything good more plentiful, and I was right, but I just don’t know now.”

“I changed things? I didn’t mean to,” Wilson said.

“Yes, I guessed that too. You’re a soft hearted fool.”

“I didn’t. . . Hurt anyone, did I?”

“No, you did not. You made it far easier than I could have ever wished for. It made it much simpler to teach the others about the rules.”

“But now…”

“Now we don’t have those rules. Things are already changing, you’ve been here much longer than necessary to notice them.” 

Wilson nodded. “So are we just. . . Going to die?”

“No, you’ll know what to do. I trust. . . you. Yeah, I trust you.” It had seemed like Maxwell was going to say something far less mushy, but decided to go the mushy route. Wilson smiled. “So for God’s sake will you come over and eat with us.”

Wilson nodded and the two went to the bright fire and the glistening tree, collecting food to eat.


	12. Oop- Pt. Two

Wilson slept extremely well with a full belly and Maxwell’s words in his head. Today Maxwell and Wigfrid, Wendy, and Webber with Chester would go and collect all of the necessities (and small personal items). Today, Wilson would go out and hunt as much as he possibly could one, for winter food, and two, winter koalaphant trunks. Those trucks would be the second ingredient to his present to everyone. No one has coats and Willow is already crying and complaining about the cold, shivering like a leaf in a breeze and was sticking close to the fire, bundled up with itchy beefalo wool blankets. The firestarter was out of commission until she got warmer clothing and that’s where the coats came into play. Also, the children, they shouldn’t have to freeze. 

Wilson already had the starting of a beard, so the cold didn’t nip at his lower face as hard. Nine koalaphant trucks and a whole lot of sewing. Wilson is praying to the Gods that Maxwell and Wigfrid will bring back more than seventy-two silk, if not, Wilson will have twenty extra handy incase they come back short. The group already has more beefalo wool than necessary, he only needs sixteen. Wilson also wants to go beefalo hunting to grab three horns, meaning he would need an extra twenty four and also more sewing. 

Wilson sighed, running a hand down his face. This will be a long, grueling process.

_______________________________

When he came back with a hastily made backpack covered in blood, both his own and not, people were worried. He was fine, nothing he couldn’t fix. Getting all of that silk made him just brim with monster meat and spider glands. The group will probably have a need for all of this. Wilson loaded the icebox full of the meat and monster meat, he kept one piece of meat, though, cooking it and then eating it.

He sewed for hours, absolute hours next to the pleasantly buzzing bee boxes. He made as many as he could with the twenty silk he had. Maxwell and Wigfrid hadn’t come back until a few hours later. By then Wilson was working on the alchemy engine and eating (thanks to Wickerbottom’s instance). 

“We were able to get you eighty-three silk, four cut stone, and nine gold, is that enough?”, Maxwell asked.

“More than so, thank you very much,” Wilson said, taking the sacks full of silk and gold from Maxwell. Wigfrid had brought over the four cut stones with a broad grin.

Maxwell still didn’t ask, but he narrowed his eyes a bit like that would help him find out what Wilson was doing. Wilson just smiled and went back to fixing the engine. He repaired the wire with one gold, it was difficult because he didn’t have anything to help connect the gold to the already existing gold inside of the wire, but he made do. He wrapped the wire in some more of Winona’s trusty tape and started on making the doodads. He was used to this, the fuses very often went out from whatever, snow, rain, getting bumped by hounds and pigs, and use. Wilson just whipped up two new doodads, connected things with minimal burning of his fingers. While he was at it he repaired some of the outside too, it would help to protect the insides from the elimintes. He had three extra cut stones and two gold left over. He fashones them into another fuse and stores the doodad and the stone under the alchemy engine for relative safe keeping.

Wilson returned to the bee boxes to sew more. He ideally wants everything done today. It was already getting so cold, everyone was bundling up in ripped, thin cloaks. Where those were found? Who knows. Funnily enough, the three hats would take much longer than the coats. The coats had very general designs: just long tubes stuffed with fur and the inside being the winter koalaphant trunk. The hats had Wilson sewing through thick fur and around horns. They took hours on their own. He shoved the leftovers into the sack the silk and gold came in to hide them, stuffing them into behind the hives. No one would come over here, the bees were only softly humming now and weren’t coming out and collecting nectar. 

Wilson had finished with the three beefalo hats and four out of the nine puffy vests. He’ll do the other five once he eats and drinks. He’s been at it for hours with no breaks, his back hurts and his stomach is cramping. A good, meaty, fist-full of jam should do the trick. The group actually had jars from God knows where and were able to keep the jam contained. Wilson snagged a small jar of jam and a wooden cup and wandered to a pond. He sucked the jam out of the jar and drank some water before getting back to work. His eyes burned from exhaustion but he had to get these done before tomorrow. 

He worked late into dusk to get the vests done, the sun was down and the moon was coming up. Wilson kept on telling himself that, “no! These are not Christmas gifts! They are purely for survival! Not presents! Presents are part of the old world!” Wilson isn’t going to tell anyone that, though, that’s too mean. He’s not going to ruin that, especially for the kids. He’s not going to wrap them though. 

Wilson carefully crawled over the kids and went to sleep only to wake up what felt like seconds later to Webber’s smiling face.

“Mr. Wilson! Mr. Wilson! Santa came!”

Wilson, of course, just smiled and nodded.  _ Sure, Santa _ .

Wilson watched from afar as everyone got gifts, even Maxwell did. He got a book from Wickerbottom, a deck of cards from Webber (the spider-child drew them for Maxwell. It was sweet), a few evil flowers from Wendy (question:  _ how did she get those _ ?), and a wobster dish from Warly. He also got a surprisingly soft smile from Winona and a pat on the back.

Once everyone was done, Wilson slowly handed out the vests, placing them either in front of the person or on their lap. Wilson, honestly, didn’t expect anything, but he got a large hug from Webber and a light, almost non-existent hand on his shoulder from Wendy. Winona grinned and shook his hand, Wickerbottom kissed his cheek, Warly thanked him, and Willow, well she scowled but was obviously trying to hold back a thankful smile. Wilson then handed out the beefalo hats to Webber, Wendy, and Willow and then, finally, Willow gave in and placed a hand on Wilson’s shoulder with her eyes trained on the ground.

“Thanks,” she said, “I guess. . .”

Wilson took that as a win and smiled at her, dipping his head down. Maxwell had wandered over and was holding out a jar of. . . Wait. . . 

“Yes, it’s nightmare fuel,” Maxwell practically sighed. “I saved some for you to do. . .  _ Whatever you do _ .” 

  
  


Oh  _ Lord  _ was Wilson going to experiment with this! What is it’s properties? Any side effects from ingesting it? How is it so evil? What’s in it? Is it a liquid of a highly condensed gas? Wilson looked at Maxwell with a bright grin.

“Oh boy.” Maxwell rubbed his forehead. 

All in all, this was a damn good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you all enjoyed these two parts! Love you guys.
> 
> Fun fact, originally these two parts were just one big one, but then I realized that would be painful for you guys to read through, breaking it up into two parts would make it less, I don't know how to explain it, daunting?

**Author's Note:**

> Please tell me if you're enjoying this and if you have any ideas for future parts!


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